I already knew this blog post was going to be more personal than the other ones. It’s not surprising… I guess staying at home gives us the space to drive inwards, to walk inside if we can’t walk outside. Or at least this is how I perceive it. During these four weeks I’ve been navigating through all nuances of emotional states, from grief to resilience, from creative flow to profound apathy, from deep enjoyment of self time and introversion to a strong yearning for human connection, from hope for creating healthy sustainable communities to insecurity regarding the personal and collective future. I am bringing to you one poem I wrote, one day at the beginning of the quarantine, when I was enjoying the warm sun on the building rooftop, our only connection with nature during this time. I will let the poem speak to you, and below I will explain the meanings behind those words and how they are connected to the moment we are living. A personal story
The significance of this poem, as the title also suggests, is the journey from grief to blossoms, the process of acceptance of the life cycle, when facing situations when we cannot control things. The theme of grief was very present in those days for me. In the first day when the quarantine started in the south of Italy, my beloved grandfather passed away. The event brought feelings of sadness and pain of a sort never experienced before. It was the first time when I really faced the death of a beloved. I couldn’t go home to my family in Romania because of travel restrictions and couldn’t say goodbye. But the situation was not beyond my control. When dealing with death, you realize how little you can actually do. I asked myself what I can do with those wounds and eventually I put them into songs, poems and written expressions of gratitude. I was trying to embrace and transform those feelings through art and meditation. With the loss of a dear one and the current isolation situation, I started to reflect about acceptance of what is, the cycle of life. It’s not easy, everything inside you wants to resist to things, although you know deep down you can’t actually change them. And in that moment, under the rays of the sun, when I wrote the poem, I felt a weird blend of grief and resilience, like I was finally starting to slowly accept. I felt a glimpse of guilt there as well, like there was a part of me feeling bad for allowing myself to heal from those wounds, a voice telling me that I don’t have access to anything but sadness. Yet there was a contrary feeling as well, the gratitude blossoming inside like a little flower blossoming from concrete on an ounce of soil. In that moment I was inspired to write a poem, but I had no pen or paper, so I had to write it in the back of my mind. The first verses reflect the real scene of that moment through my sensations: the caress of the mild wind blowing, the sun warming up my skin, the beginning of a new day. With the coming of the day, the fear, dark thoughts, solitude, agony and melancholia from the night were slowly going, living space for the softer feelings of the day. And just as I was wondering what the next verse could be, I heard a hummingbird singing somewhere close, as a sign of hope that there is something there, a form of life, chanting. And with the chant, acceptance was ever more present inside and I got this message, that life unfolds, that everything comes and goes, that it’s the way things are, that I cannot control, but can only accept, trust, express my gratitude to all it was and is to be. Something in me felt still in the process of healing, weeping silently. But along with that there was something blossoming as well. I thought of a snowdrop, the white flower symbolizing spring, but in my personal story also a symbol of my childhood, my home, my roots, a place where I was returning often during those days. A collective story Although this poem has so many meanings coming from my personal experience, it can be connected with the collective situation we are living. Like the loss of a beloved one, it’s a situation where we don’t have control over things and an invitation to cultivate acceptance and reflect. Grief, in this case, is manifested in a longing for health and peace, longing for moving outside freely, for connecting with nature and with other humans; or maybe it’s manifested in feelings of pain when witnessing inner and outer struggles of this crisis, dealing with the loss of certainty or stability, or of things we were relying on that we took for granted. Certain systems of values are now shaking; questions are raised about the sustainability of our forms of leaving (financial systems based on having to “earn your bread”, urban structures, functionality of public services, strong hierarchies when it comes to jobs, with the most significant jobs in a crisis situation normally being rated as “low standard”). I can’t help but wonder, in a situation of crisis, what is it that stays really in our hands to do? What is in the sphere of our control and what is out of it? When it comes to things we can’t control - like decisions of the government, how others feel or react, time of this quarantine, available products in the supermarket – we are not able to influence them. However, they occupy our mind. But focusing on these worries will not help us effectively change things. Here comes the invitation to cultivate acceptance and resilience, to take time to reflect on how can our life be more sustainable, to focus of the essential things that can we can do our collective and individual good. When it comes to our sphere of control, we can think about the things that we can do to support our physical, emotional and mental well-being. This can involve decisions of what to shift the attention towards, how to take care of ourselves and welcome every emotion and sensation, what activities can bring us relief and joy, how we can connect with others, how we can support the community in the given circumstance. We have the time to observe ourselves with kindness, to give time for our longings. Many times, although it’s easy to say we can choose our reactions and focus points, it might feel like even that goes out of control. What I am learning is to accept even when that occurs. To be kind and not judge the things that emerge, like unexpected emotional reactions, sensitivity towards certain things. Although it’s not an easy lesson, it brings every time more liberation. I experience it on my own skin and it’s a tough lesson for my ever-protective inner critic who sends thunders of guilt down my spine whenever I overreact to something. But just like in the poem, with the acceptance of the wounds and the unfolding of things, something inside of us can blossom in this inner journey. Just as you, I don’t know what collective changes this situation will bring. But I have a feeling it’s an invitation for a necessary inner journey for us all. It’s a moment when we can stop and reflect, learn to accept and develop resilience inside ourselves.
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